


Halfway to Anywhere

by Tabithian



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:19:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5621875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything starts, as so many things do in Tim's life these days, with a job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halfway to Anywhere

**Author's Note:**

> IDK, I just wanted space adventures or some such? *hands*

The good part of being a free-lancer is that there's always someone out there willing to pay you to do something for them.

The bad part of being a free-lancer? 

Having to wade through the offers you get to find the one least likely to land you in jail somewhere – if you're lucky. If you're not, you get sent to some backwater mining operation where your paperwork gets lost and people forget you ever existed. (Or _worse_.)

Tim's seen it happen. (Made it happen, a time or two.)

“So.”

Tim stares at the data pad in front of him.

Scrolls past the first few offers that are obvious traps the ones that may or may not be legal and lands on the one that snagged his attention when he checked the day's job-board postings. 

Like the other postings of its ilk it's in code, simple enough for someone with experience to pick out of the regular postings. Legitimate job postings and the blatantly illegal put up by someone stupid enough not to realize how stupid they are.

Good pay, if they can deliver. 

Excellent potential to get them real dead, real fast if they make even the slightest misstep.

“What do you think?” Tim asks, tossing the data pad onto the table in front of him. 

The lights dim for a moment, flicker really.

“Well clearly it's too good to be true,” Tim says, amused.

Too good to be true, unless they fail, that is.

There's something about it tugging at the edges of Tim's mind, something weirdly familiar he can't quite place that's making the posting that much more intriguing to him. Which should just be another tick in the column for reasons against taking the job, really, but - 

Paying for the upkeep of a ship like this one is steadily eating into what's left of the modest little stockpile of credits Tim had squirreled away.

“Hey,” he says, reaching for the data pad and ignoring the little voice telling him he's going to regret this so much. “You can always pull an 'I told you so' later.”

Past experience tells Tim there _will_ be a chance for that happening at some point.

Retrieval jobs never run smooth, after all.

********

When Tim's parents died, they left him with a tidy little sum of credits and a data pad with encrypted information it took him the better part of a month to crack as his inheritance.

From there it was a matter of finding a way off Earth to a little planetoid that had housed an old Drake Industries research installation. Long decommissioned, no mention of it anywhere in the DI database Tim accessed before it was locked down as the company went under.

He'd gotten what he needed from it by that point, which.

True had been nothing but questions when it turned out the facility didn't exist in any of the public databases he checked, but the military ones?

There were references, oblique and frustratingly vague about something the shape and form of a research installation in that general sector of space, but nothing solid, concrete.

Odd, considering Tim had memories of his parents taking him there on an inspection once, years and years ago.

Just as vague and frustrating as anything he managed to dig up, but he _remembered_.

So.

Tim was left with enough money to get him anywhere he wanted to go, and a set of coordinates that didn't seem to exist on any known star map. 

He could have stayed on Earth and watch the company his parents built continue it's slow collapse begun years ago he had no way of stopping, or investigate the little mystery they'd left him.

Not the hardest decision he'd ever had to make, but it certainly ranked up there.

********

There's a familiar click followed by static in Tim's earpiece that has him making a face because now is not the time for an 'I told you so.'

Really, really not.

He pretends he didn't hear it, which is entirely plausible with the wailing sirens and klaxons and whatnot. (Better than acknowledging it, anyway.)

Still. 

There may be a large number of dead and/or dying people aboard this wonderful little space station, but there are just as many still alive more than capable of putting an inglorious end to Tim's not-so-illustrious career as a free-lancer if they just stand around like this.

“Look,” Tim says, hands help up, palms out. “I'm just as surprised about this as you are.”

Because.

There's a _sword_.

An actual metal and who knows what else sword, held in the hands of someone who clearly knows exactly what they're doing with said sword.

Nothing like facing down some small-time goon in a good old-fashioned double-cross with one of those little energy blades good for one nice stab before the battery supply gives out, or someone with one of the cheap folding blades and delusions of being some kind of space pirate like out of the holovids. 

People don't use swords anymore, not the metal and who knows what else kind at any rate. Not when there are things like energy weapons and the like that will kill someone faster, cleaner than a sword.

So, yes.

Tim is very, very surprised about the sword.

Maybe even a little at the general situation he's found himself in this time, but given the nature of the job posting he'd accepted?

Not so surprised about that, really, with the way his luck runs.

“Lies.”

Tim resists rolling his eyes only due to the fact that there's a _sword_.

And also a very small, very angry person holding it who is looking at Tim like he's just another obstacle in his way.

Thing is, the very small, very angry person with the sword is hurt. Bleeding from several wounds Tim can see and holding himself carefully enough Tim bets there are more under his clothes.

Another thing is, the very small, very angry person is Tim's job.

Or, okay.

To put in a way that doesn't sound as though Tim's taken up wetwork, the very small, very angry person is a significant part of his job. The kind of significant that means Tim can't finish the job or get paid or anything really, without this small, angry person in tow.

“How are you planning on getting out of here?” Tim asks, because he excels at this, getting himself into situations with an incredibly high risk of getting him killed and then _making it worse_ because he can't keep his mouth shut.

His specialty, really.

The very small, very angry person glares, something made all the more impressive with the blood on his face – and doesn't answer.

Just glares at Tim darkly, lips pulling up over his teeth – also bloody – and slides into a stance like he's he's about to go through Tim.

“I have a ship,” Tim says, like there isn't a very real chance he could die here. “Not much to look at really, but she's fast.”

Full of little tricks and surprises too, but it's not like that's the kind of thing you advertise to just anyone.

Certainly not to the kind of someone who still hasn't decided if they're going to kill you or not.

The very small, very angry person – and really, it's a _kid_ \- lowers the sword.

Not that Tim thinks it makes the kid any less dangerous, though. Not when he got this far on his own.

“A ship?”

Tim nods, lowering his hands. 

“Light cargo transport.”

The kid makes a face at that, and.

Yeah, Tim's gotten that before.

His 'bird's not the prettiest thing out there, sure, but she's fast enough and more importantly, reliable. She's gotten him out of more scrapes than he cares to think about.

“You have a better option right now?”

The kid cocks his head, eyes narrowing as he looks Tim over.

Tim's of average height, build for an Earther his age. There's a little muscle to him from doing the majority of ship repairs himself to keep costs down, but overall nothing all that impressive about him.

He knows that, has used it to his advantage in the past. Hopes this time it'll help Tim out a bit with the kid and his justifiable suspicion when everyone else on this station's done their best to kill him up to this point.

“If you - “

“I know, I know,” Tim says, quirks a tired little smile. “You'll kill me, I got it.”

Not the first threat the kid's made towards him since they ran into one another, and probably won't be the last before everything's said and done.

It does make him wonder a little, though, what kind of life the kid's had where he can deliver threats like that without batting an eye. 

Can deliver threats like that and mean them.

“You ready to get out of this place?”

The kid _looks_ at him, and Tim.

“Just don't stab me with that thing, and we'll call it good, okay?”

“ _Tt_.”

Tim blinks, not sure what that's even supposed to mean, but the kid sheathes the sword and gestures imperiously for Tim to take the lead, which is probably a good sign.

********

The dissolution of Drake Industries is major news, several networks and smaller news feeds covering it. Focused on the end of an era and the impact the loss of DI will have on the economy – and through it all not one takes note when the Drake heir disappears.

Tim hops a public transport headed to the outer planets and takes smaller and smaller transports until he hits the territories. From there it's working his way closer on small ships barely eking living out on the edges of wild space taking small jobs here and there, ferrying paying passengers between systems.

He backtracks several times, something telling him taking a straight path to the research installation would be a bad idea,worse than the one that had him on this quest in the first place.

Because

Tim could have taken funds out of his accounts and paid for a shiny new thing that would have gotten him noticed. Had people _remembering_ him, slip of an Earther passing through systems he had no real business being, but this.

As time consuming and exhausting as it was,was the better choice.

Or maybe it was a holdover from the long trips he took with his parents, visiting his father's dig sites on other planets, marveling at the remains of civilizations that had existed long before Earth was even formed. 

Dusty, dirty planets and the rickety ships carrying personnel and equipment to the surface. Surly old pilots with no time for idle passengers and would put them all to work in one capacity or another.

All given, it takes Tim nearly a year, Earth-standard, before his feet hit the ground on that planetoid that doesn't exist in a ship that had shaken and rattled alarmingly around him the trip out.

The installation was the way Tim remembered it, the broad strokes.

Access codes nestled in with the installation's coordinates get him past the security gates and several checkpoints beyond.

After that, well.

Things got _interesting_.

********

“So,” Tim says, prying an access panel away from the wall it's very firmly attached to. “What brings you out here?”

The kid doesn't answer, too invested in trying to bore a hole through Tim's head with the power of his glare alone.

“I only ask,” Tim says, poking his head into the access-way like an idiot, “because this doesn't really seem like your kind of place.”

And.

It's not like Tim knows the kid well enough to say that, but.

To be fair, this isn't the kind of place for a lot of people.

The sane, rational kind, anyway.

The people who end up in an Arena like this one voluntarily tend to have a death wish, that or they're grossly overconfident in their combat prowess.

The rest?

Well, there's jail, and backwater mining operations of questionable legality, and then there are the Arenas.

The kid doesn't seem the type to have a death wish, or be some kind of criminal mastermind, but who even knows really. 

The kid carries an actual sword around like it's nothing.

“And how would you know that?”

Tim pull his head out of the access-way and looks at the kid.

Small, a little less angrier than he was earlier and looking like he's been through the wringer a few times.

It makes Tim angry, even though the kids an absolute _brat_.

“Point,” Tim says, and flicks a hand at the access-way. “You want to go first, or - “

The kid _growls_ , and Tim can almost see his hackles rising.

And.

Right, right.

Not that Tim thought the kid would leave him at his back, sword or not, but he had to offer.

There are built-in lighting panels to let them see where they're going, but it's tight quarters, forcing them to craw along.

The kid's been quiet for the most part, giving Tim short, clipped responses when he's not sniping at him.

Apparently of the mind that Tim doesn't pose any actual threat to him, which.

Hurtful, but Tim will take it if it means the kid will cooperate with him long enough to get off this station.

Tim pauses when a series of clicks and beeps sound through his earpiece, hears the kid draw up short behind him.

“What?”

“Organized search parties,” Tim says, smiling tightly. “Sounds like you got them worked up.”

The kid doesn't say anything to that, not that Tim was expecting him to. Not after Tim got a look at the station's security feeds and saw the chaos the kid had left in his wake after breaking out of his cell.

And now there are a lot of seriously angry people out there looking for the kid, and Tim knows they're not going to be gentle about it if they catch him.

All the more reason not to get caught, really.

Tim leads them through the twisting turns of the access-way until there's a quiet beep in his ear and he stops next to another access panel.

Waits until he hears a series of beeps and chirps, impatient, and works at getting the panel loose.

“Where are we going?”

Tim focuses on the screws holding the panel in place, hearing the exhaustion in the kid's voice under the snap of annoyance.

“My ship.”

Tim laughs at the aggravated sigh, the low growl that gets him just as the last scree pops loose the panel budges.

He's more careful about things this time as he moves the panel aside, waiting for an all-clear through his earpiece before climbing into one of the stations maintenance bays. 

His gear's still where he left it, thankfully undisturbed and from the beeps and chirps in his earpiece the search parties are focused on the station hangar and cargo bays, Expecting the kid to make for one of the ships there to escape.

There's no indication they're even aware Tim's there, which can only last so long.

“Your ship doesn't seem to be here.”

Tim looks at the kid, who looks back. Expression wary, as though he expects Tim to turn on him. 

“You feel up to a little walk?” Tim asks, gesturing at the maintenance airlock. 

“What?”

********

Drake Industries dabbled in a little of everything, which in hindsight may have led to its downfall, but that's not the point.

The point is that that 'little of everything' seemed to vary from household electronics to vehicle manufacturing to military contacts.

Fantastic, really.

********

“Okay, so,” Tim says, dragging the kid through the 'bird's airlock. “That could have gone better.”

Apparently the kid is not fond at all of going EVA, but considering it was the only way to the _Redbird_ , their choices were pretty slim.

Probably not that helpful when someone finally noticed the ship stuck to the side of the station, magnetic clamps holding her steady just a few hundred yards from a maintenance airlock.

Figures that's when Tim's luck would run out.

Going EVA is dangerous enough without people taking shots at you with energy and projectile weapons, and the kid is clearly not a fan of either.

They don't have a lot of time before the station scrambles its interceptors, but - 

The kid's hissing, clawing at the faceplate of his suit and trying for his sword at the same time and all in all, it's just sad.

“Relax, relax,” Tim says, dropping down next to the kid a little heavier than he intended to. “I know it's no fun, but come on, work with me here.”

He gets the kids hands away from his helmet's faceplate and sees two tiny eyes glaring at him.

“See? You're fine,” Tim soothes, popping the helmet's seals and lifts it away. 

“ _Tt._ ”

Tim rolls his eyes, and because the kid looks utterly miserable under that glower, reaches out to ruffle his hair, and _oh_ , the kid's reaction.

“What do you think you're _doing_?” the kid hisses when he finally regains his ability to speak, looking equal parts outraged and bewildered.

Tim smiles, and tries to get to his feet, but, well.

That part about people shooting at them, and the suits may be space-rated, but they're not invulnerable.

“Okay, that's not good,” Tim says, looking down to see a neat little hole through his suit, just under the control module panel.

He can hear an alarmed warbling in his ear and sees the kid's wide eyes. There's a worrying pinging and clanging against the 'bird's hull that means someone's still shooting at them.

“Rigby, get us out of here!” Tim calls out, staggering to his feet with the kid's help. “No straight lines!”

A sharp whistle in stereo now that Tim's back aboard the _Redbird_ and the sound of the magnetic clamps releasing and the Redbird pushes off from the station. Tim manages to get the kid buckled into the bench set along one side of the cramped airlock, hands fumbling with his own restraints.

“What - “

“Hold on,” Tim says, finally getting the harness locked into place. “Rigby, go!”

There's a dubious warble, and then the _Redbird_ 's making for open space, and consciousness slips away from Tim.

********

There's a lab, and a console at its center.

Screen blank, until Tim enters the room fully, and then it lights up.

The DI logo flashes across the screen chased by logos from various branches of the military that resolve into a large white question mark that blinks slowly.

********

Tim opens his eyes to the ceiling of the _Redbird_ 's medbay.

“You have an AI.”

The words sound angry, and after a moment trying to place what happened to land him in the medbay yet again, Tim remembers why.

“I'm going to guess we made it.”

There's a disgusted snort, and then the kid's staring down at Tim. 

“Are you always this observant?”

Well.

“Eh,” Tim says, and tries to sit up only for the kid to _glare_ at him.

“Don't. Your AI is.” The kid sneers, like emotions are some kind of horrible ailment. “ _Concerned._ "

Tim can't help his smile at that.

“I'm fine, Rigby,” Tim says, even though she's no doubt monitoring his vital signs and is well aware that 'fine' is a relative term with Tim. “You know humans are tougher than we look.”

Though this was probably going too far in proving that point, really.

Tim seems to be in one piece (Rigby would have pitched a fit if he was missing anything else important) and he's managed to successfully complete the first stage of the job.

Hurray.

The kid sighs, slumping back in the seat he has pulled up to the medical bed, arms crossed.

Tim eyes him.

The kid has his sword at his side, but doesn't seem all that eager to use it on Tim at the moment, which is nice to know.

Or maybe the kid's just smart enough to realize Rigby wouldn't take kindly to him for taking that sword to Tim.

AIs do have a reputation, after all.

“So,” Tim says, when it becomes apparent Rigby's giving him the silent treatment. “My name's Tim. What's yours?”

The kid just stares at him, and Tim.

It's going to be a long, long trip to the rendezvous coordinates he was given when he took this job.

Overhead, the speakers click on with impeccable timing as Rigby's voice filters out with a smug, “I told you so.”

**Author's Note:**

> /o\


End file.
